Say Something
by Fillionfan400
Summary: Aftermath of the Grimm season 4 finale. Juliette's death is hitting hard, but Nick may not recover as hoped. (NOTE: For whatever reason, this site hates when I try to indicate a new section of a chapter. So if it seems like there should be a break, there probably is one, but the site ate it.)
1. Say Something

Silence. That's all there was. At least, that was how Nick perceived it. His focus was lost, his vision of reality and a dream completely blurred. He was very faintly aware of a weight in his arms, but he couldn't quite place it. Yes, Nick Burkhardt's mind was the equivalent of a war zone at the moment, and it seemed nothing could break him from the battle.

 _Nick. Nick! Nick, look at me!_

Sounds seem to bounce right off of him. And though he is vaguely aware of the presence of another person in the room, he refuses to look up to meet its gaze.

 _Nick! Look at me, please!_

A voice. Yes, there is a voice. It's quiet, edging on a whisper. But it's there. Nick can only fight it for so long before he finally moves his head. His eyes, however, don't seem to comply so easily. He has to use what little strength he has to focus his attention on the source of the voice.

"Nick, please, say something!" The voice belongs to Theresa Rubel. Her eyes are welled with tears, and her voice shakes with each new word it forms. Though she was so strong moments ago, she can feel her resolve crumbling as she looks on at the scene in front of her.

Words. That's all. Words. Nick's brain tries to wrap around the simple task of speaking, but it seems too difficult. Instead, he looks to the mass in his arms. The shock of the moment had seemed to erase his mind and memory, and he nearly cries out when he recognizes the slain body. There's a name in the back of his brain, fighting its way back into his thoughts.

 _Juliette._

He should say something, anything, but he can't. He can't even begin to force a scream or a sob past those lips. All he can do is try and block the pain- both the physical and mental- from protruding in his brain.

"Nick, I-I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" Trubel places a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort her friend as best she can. But as hard as she tries, she knows somehow that it isn't enough. Her walls finally broken, she begins to cry.

Somewhere outside, a car pulls up into the driveway. Hank, Renard, and Wu all pile out of the vehicle, urgency in their footsteps. As soon as Hank had heard of Trubel's plan, he had phoned the others to come with him to the Burkhardt-Silverton residence. As much as he knew the young Grimm could handle things on her own, he also knew what heartbreak the situation would bring. He needed to be there for his friends. He doesn't bother to use the key Nick had given him, and he doesn't need to; the door is still slightly ajar from Trubel's act of heroism. The three men file in, quietly as to not disturb anything. It's a sight that's hard for all of them to swallow. Renard and Wu hang tentatively back, while Hank steps up to the plate. His first move is to help Trubel to her feet, and give her a much deserved hug. He can feel her body shaking with each sob, and he responds with a gentle pat to the back. He knows this was just as hard on her as it was the rest of them. Juliette may as well have been her surrogate mother, and to lose someone that special was never easy. As she pulls away from the embrace a few moments later, he gives her an empty, but still sympathetic smile.

His next task is Nick. He knows this will be hard; it's taking a great deal of strength not to cry himself. Steady hands hold Nick's shoulders, urging him to stand. When that doesn't work, Hank stoops down to his friend's side. He takes a moment to prepare himself before pressing forward.

"Nick, we're just gonna stand you up, okay? Think you can do that for me?" His voice is firm, but undemanding. When there's no reply, he sighs. "Captain, do you think you could give me a hand here?"

Nodding, Renard finally enters the main room. All business at the moment, he helps hoist Nick up while Hank gently guides Juliette's body to the floor. The two share a look before turning to Nick, waiting, watching. Nothing.

"He's in shock. We should get him to a hospital." Renard says it so simply, it's as if the fact that there was a dead body on the floor never crossed his mind. Hank finally stands, helping Sean to steady Nick.

"Sir, what… what about the body?"

Wu's voice is almost so faint that they don't quite hear it. Another look is shared, this time between all of them.

"We'll have to call it in. Trubel can stay behind and give a statement. She can say it was self defense, that Juliette came after her. That is, if you're up to it." Nodding at Trubel, Sean finally shows some sympathy in his features.

"Y-yeah, I can do that." Though she sounds unsure, Trubel knows how delicate this situation is.

"Alright. That means that you'll have to make the call."

Giving a solemn nod, she leaves to go the kitchen, and to get the phone.

"Hank, help me get Nick onto the couch. He'll have to wait for the ambulance, but for right now, he needs to lie down."

"Got it."

"It's been three days. Why hasn't he improved by now?" Monroe's voice is quieter than usual, full of grief and sorrow.

"Monroe, Nick just lost the love of his life. I wouldn't be surprised if it took him a while to readjust." Rosalee sighs. She knows how much this is hurting him, to watch his best friend deteriorate. It's killing her, too. But she still holds on to hope, because she has to do it for the both of them.

"I understand the grieving process. But Rosalee… I mean, he hasn't spoken in three days. Shouldn't that be a cause for concern?"

Putting her wooden spoon on the counter, Rosalee looked down into the pot of pasta on the stove. She can't meet her husband's gaze, not right now. "Monroe, the doctors are trying everything they can. It may take some time-"

"What if it doesn't work? What if this is permanent? What... what if he never talks again?"

The break in his voice finally makes her turn around. Monroe's eyes are swollen from days of crying, and fresh tears are forming, threatening to spill across the invisible scars of tears past. His face is dark, and his lips are trembling.

"Honey…" It's all she can manage. Wrapping her arms around him, Rosalee musses her fingers through Monroe's curls, trying to pull him closer. As she feels his body shake with the first rocky breath, she feels the little hope she's been holding onto slip away.


	2. I'm Giving Up On You

The first thing Nick notices when he wakes up is the gentle sound of rain on the window. It pitters and patters ever so softly, its sound a warm welcome to his still tired body and brain. The next thing he notices is that h is not in his own bed, nor his own home. Panic takes hold of him for a moment, until he remembers where he is and how he got there. Looking around at the hospital recovery room, he takes note of the unfamiliar sights and sounds, which should have become familiar in the four days he's been here. There's a steady beeping coming from the EKG meter, a subtle _drip, drop_ of the IV bag, and a small gaggle of nurses and doctors in the hallway.

He's done this every morning for the past few days; waking up in a panic, realizing where he is, and coming back to terms with the events that led to all this. He remembers the nurse that explained to him that he was in a state of extreme mental shock, that he would need to stay over night to be monitored. He remembers the same nurse bringing him a bottle of water and some Jell-o the next morning, telling him that it was important to get some calories and stay hydrated. Then he remembers the concern on her face when she came back a few hours later and he hadn't touched his food or taken a sip of water. She took one look at his gaunt features, took his temperature and looked at his heart rate, and realized how dehydrated he was. _Just one more night, okay? Just until you get rehydrated._ But when that plan failed, he ended up staying even longer.

That was one of the hardest parts of all of this; watching how worried other people were for him. The poor nurse was just trying to make sure he was okay, but he just wasn't. He couldn't be okay. No matter how hard he willed himself to take a bite of food, or a sip of water, he couldn't do it. It was as if every fiber of his being wanted him to stop fighting to be okay. Then there was the visit from Monroe and Rosalee. That broke him.

Monroe was a normally strong willed person, especially around Nick. So to see his stoic brown eyes filled with tears when he stood by Nick's bedside was incredibly difficult. If he hadn't been so out of it, Nick would have teared up, too. Of course his gaze trailed to Rosalee, who was fighting back a sob. There was such a strong pang of sadness in his heart that he had to turn away, close his eyes even. He could hear Rosalee sniffle, and even Monroe trying to even his breathing. He wanted so badly to turn around and smile, to say something, but he couldn't. He just sat there, pretending that his friends had never even shown up, and waited for them to leave. That had been harder than all his time here; hell, he would have suffered through another week of dehydration and all its side effects before having to go through that again.

Now, as he laid back down in his ugly little hospital bed, Nick listened to the sound of the rain, and let it whisk him slowly back to sleep.

"So what are you saying? Is he just… he can't talk anymore?"

It's a question Monroe and Rosalee didn't have a great answer for, but the answer they did have wasn't much better than nothing. They know it'll break Trubel's heart either way, so they decide to rip the proverbial bandaid off.

"We can't know for sure, but as far as we can tell…" Rosalee can't even finish the sentence. Her heart is weighed down with sadness, and it's drawing her words from her mouth.

Trubel can't believe it. She _won't_ believe it. She's too blinded by anger and rage to be sorrowful. Her hands forming fists, she stands with a huff, turning her back to Rosalee.

"Trubel, I'm so sorry…"

"You're lying!" The words come out of her mouth before she can stop them. She doesn't mean to sound so cross, but it's the only thing she can manage right now.

Rosalee stands back a moment, unsure of what to do or say. She looks to Monroe, but he just sits silently, watching the argument unfold. He's still upset that they had to break the news.

"Trubel, please, I know this is hard, but you have to understand. What Nick went through that night, it was too much for him. They even have him on fluids because he won't eat or drink anything."

Turning, Trubel purses her lips, trying to think more carefully about what she wants to say. "There's no way. I get that what he went through was hard, but there's no way in hell he would just stop talking! We're his friend's for God's sake! He can't just not talk to us!"

Rosalee sighs, crossing her arms over her chest in an almost defensive manor. "The doctors are doing everything they can for him right now. They say that if things don't improve soon, they might be finding him a speech therapist. If he does speak again, it may take him a while. The important thing right now is to let him figure things out on his own, and come to terms with all of this."

Her hands beginning to shake and knuckles turning white, Trubel growls. Her grief has only ever brought out her anger, and now is no different. She wants to scream, to hit or break something. But here and now, looking at Monroe and Rosalee, she can feel the rage slowly melting to sadness. She has to turn away again, her eyes quickly filling with tears. She takes a few breaths, trying to compose herself. Then there's a hand on her shoulder; it's Monroe. Somewhere in his mind, he knows exactly how she feels. They're both losing their best friend, and they know it. She turns around, throwing her arms around him, burying her face in his chest and sobbing.

"Mister Burkhardt? You have a visitor here who wants to say hi."

The words fall on groggy ears, and Nick tries to ignore them, act like he doesn't hear them. But there's a familiar voice next to his bed that makes him turn around.

"Hey champ. How you feelin'?" Trubel is standing there, a smile on her face. It's the first time she's seen him since that night. And even the sight of him hooked up to a billion machines makes her smile. Because it's him, and he's _alive_.

It's hard, but Nick manages a sort of wave with his fingers. It's not much, but it's more than he's given anyone that's come by. He wants to try a smile, but he feels like it might give her false hope. She would know it was fake from a mile away. Probably because he knew she was giving him the same fake smile.

"I, uh, I brought you some stuff." Reaching into a paper shopping bag on the chair beside the bed, she rummages around, pulling out a little stuffed bear dressed up like a policeman. Next, she pulls out various types of chocolate bars, and lays them on the little tray on Nick's bed. "I figured that if the bear didn't make you smile, maybe some gourmet chocolate would. Then again, I was probably just thinking like that because that's what I would have wanted."

An awkwardness and absence of words quickly fills the air, making the room all the more uncomfortable. Clearing her throat, Trubel pulls the chair up to Nick's side, sitting down and just looking at him for a few moments. She's still having trouble getting over how many wires and needles he's hooked up to. In fact it's kind of scary. She's always seen Nick as someone that was strong, maybe even superhuman. Well, that wasn't completely inaccurate, but still, it made it hard to look at him in this state.

"So… the nurses say that you're looking a bit better healthwise. Your hydration levels are starting to improve. They say that as long as you do a good job of eating, you might even be able to come home in a few days." Finally having had enough of beating around the bush, she sighs. "Nick, I get it. Losing Juliette wasn't easy for you. Hell, it wasn't really easy for any of us. But you especially. I just… I don't want that to be an excuse for you to give up, okay?"

Solemn blue eyes meet stern brown, then quickly look away. Nick fiddles with a loose thread on his sheet, trying to avoid Trubel's gaze. But he can still feel her eyes boring a hole into his skull, and it's driving him crazy. Still, he can't tell her to stop. He can't even gather enough strength to look at her.

"So that's it then? You're just not gonna say anything? You're just gonna sit there and let me talk at you and you're not even going to _try_ to prove me wrong?" Biting back a curse, Trubel sits back in her chair, angry, but not defeated. "You know what? Screw you. We're all just trying to help you Nick, and you can't even show a little gratitude. You can't even fight back! You don't _want_ to fight back! You're pathetic!"

The words hit him like a ton of bricks. Trubel has never chewed him out like that. He squeezes his eyes shut, just willing her to go. And, as if she was able to read his mind, she scoots her chair back to its original place, its legs scraping across the linoleum floor. Her combat boots clomp along to the door, where she waits a moment before turning around for a final dig.

"When you're willing to talk, call me. But until then, you can forget about me coming by. The only reason I came back to Portland was to help you, Nick. But clearly you don't want my help anymore."


	3. I'm Sorry That I Couldn't get to You

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK._

The sound of someone banging on the door makes Bud nearly jump out of his skin. Then again, there aren't many things on this Earth that _don't_ do that. Shuffling to the door, baseball bat in hand, he trembles. "W-who is it? Who's there?" He stutters. If it truly had been anyone looking to harm him, there was no way he would have scared them off.

"Bud, it's Trubel. Let me in."

"Oh, phew!" Unlocking the door, he lets Trubel in. "I-I thought that maybe something was wrong. Hey, how's Nick? Did you guys ever find Juliette? Oh God, I hope they're okay. It's such a shame to see them on such bad terms now-"

"Bud, breathe." Trubel nearly snaps. She normally would have laughed a little at Bud's fast-talking ways, but she was here on a mission. "Nick is in the hospital right now."

"The hospital?! Wha-what happened? Oh my God, don't tell me Juliette did this…"

"It's a long story, okay? Right now I need to talk to Adalind."

"O-oh, um, sure. She's in the guest room, I-I think she might be asleep." Pointing with a shaky finger down the hall, Bud gives a nervous smile.

"Yeah, well not for much longer." Stomping off down the hall, a chittering Bud following a few feet behind, Trubel throws open the door to Adalind's room, bathing the sleeping blonde in the dim light from the hallway before turning on the light in the room. "Get up. _Now._ "

Adalind stirs, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. "Oh, what do you want?" She bites.

"I want you to _get up._ " Marching over to the little bed, Trubel practically pulls Adalind by the arm until she's standing, then proceeds to pin her to the wall. "This is all _your_ fault!"

"What the hell are you talking about? I've been cooped up in here for nearly a week!" Groaning, Adalind tries to push her off. But Trubel is determined; she pushes harder, restraining her with a newfound strength.

"Juliette found Nick and tried to kill him. I had to shoot her. Nick was so in shock that he's in the hospital, and he won't talk to any of us. He can't talk anymore, all because you had to go and sleep with him and start all of this!"

Somewhere in the hall, Bud is blathering on nervously. "Oh my God, I-I'm just gonna go, o-out to the… y-yeah, bye…"

Turning back to Adalind, Trubel growls. Grabbing her by the shoulders, she throws her back on the bed.

"Hey, watch it! I'm kind of carrying here!" Adalind shrieks, motioning to her swollen stomach.

"Do I look like I care? You're just lucky I'm not here to kill you!"

"Oh yeah, lucky me." Sighing, Adalind props herself up, still a little dizzy from being thrown around. "Alright, so why _are_ you here?"

"Because you're the only one who knows how to fix him." Crossing her arms, Trubel narrows her eyes. "So, you have a choice: either help us fix him, or-"

"Or what, you'll kill me? Kill _us?_ You wouldn't have the guts."

"Oh yeah? Try me."

Running her tongue along her teeth, Adalind thinks about it a moment. "Look sweetheart: I don't know if you know this, but I don't exactly have my powers right now. Even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't. So unless you know another hexenbiest, you're out of luck."

Smirking, Trubel leans up against the wall. "I may not know a hexenbiest, but I _do_ know of a zauberbiest that would be more than willing to help."

Rolling her eyes, Adalind grumbles. "Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me." Rolling out of bed, she finds her jacket. " _Fine._ But we're going to need some supplies."

"I've got that covered, too. Now let's go."

 _[Break]_

"No, the bottle next to it. There."

Rosalee scans the bottles on the shelf, looking for the next item on her list. "Got it." Passing the bottle down to Adalind, she climbs back down the rungs of the little rolling ladder. "Alright, now we just need the agrimony. I think I have some on the back table already."

"Okay, the first thing you need to do is mix the agrimony with the Althea Root, boil it, and let it cool. Once it's about room temperature, sprinkle in the Bechan, and let it sit for about two hours. He'll have to drink a decent amount of the stuff for it work."

Taking note of her instructions, Rosalee nods. "Got it." Closing her little notepad, she clears her throat. "And what are the chances that this will actually work?"

Three pairs of eyes all find their way to Adalind, staring her down like a prey item. Gulping, she sighs. "No one really knows. More than anything, it's just going to help promote positive grieving, and help him recover faster. I guess that if you want to up your possibility of it making him talk, you can add about a teaspoon of Benzoin."

Surprisingly, Monroe is the next to speak. He's been a little shy of words lately, but with a small sense of hope returning, he's beginning to find his voice again. "How long should it take before we see results?"

She turns to look at him. Even when he's an emotional wreck, Monroe is still a potential threat. If anything, he's more dangerous now. She thinks about it carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing the wrong way and set him off. "If you're lucky, about three days."

"And if we're not lucky?"

There's another agonizing moment of silence. Even though everyone wants to know the answer, they also don't want to hear it. "The max amount of time could be up to a month. And that's just if it works."

Rosalee can see how hard the news hits Monroe. And through all the mess of silence, she can hear her own heart beginning to shatter. "It's still the best option we have. I think we can wait a month, don't you?"

Monroe sighs. "I guess a month isn't really that long a time. Definitely shorter than forever."

"Trubel?"

Looking up, Trubel cracks a small smile. "I can wait."

"Then it's settled. Now all we have to do is make the potion and make Nick drink it."

"What happens if he doesn't want to drink it? Like, what if he finds out what it's for and gets angry or something?" Trubel had thought about it since the first mention of a potion. Their recent experience with Juliette had proven that if someone was stubborn enough, they may just resist every little inkling of help and hope.

"We don't have to tell him what it is. We can just put it in an old water bottle or something." Rosalee suggests.

"The potion isn't exactly flavorless." Adalind pipes in. "You might have better luck telling him it's tea or something. If you need to, you can add a little cinnamon to help hide the flavor from the Althea Root."

"Then that's what we'll do."

As everyone begins heading to their little unassigned stations, Adaling grabs Trubel's arm. "I hope you know that if this doesn't work, it's not because I didn't want it to."

Furrowing her brows, Trubel pulls her arm away. "Why in the hell do you even care about helping him?"

"Well, it did seem like a sort of life-or-death situation for me."

"Please, I never would have killed you." Trubel mumbles.

"Really? Cause you made it seem like a pretty big possibility."

Sighing, Trubel pulls Adalind off to the side. "Look, as much as I would _love_ to wring your neck, you're pregnant. That child is innocent, and it doesn't deserve to die for the shit you did."

Pursing her lips, Adalind steps back. "You Grimms are getting way too soft." Then, secretly, she leans in and whispers _good luck_ before ducking out the door of the spice shop.


	4. Anywhere I Would've Followed You

_Nick. Sweetie, wake up._

A soft and sweet voice was calling to Nick somewhere. It's familiar in a way he can't describe; all he knows is that it's warm and inviting, and it envelops him like a soothing melody. His eyes blink open slowly, and he finds himself in his own bed, in his own home. A small smile creeps across his face, and he begins to try and drift off again. But something off to the side catches his eye; there's a body in bed next to him.

Supple red hair spills across the pillows, and the figure of a slender figure lies underneath the sheets. A name bounces around his head a moment: Juliette. He can't quite describe it, but Nick knows something about this can't be right. He tries to place it, but something in his mind is telling him to reach out to the figure, like if he touches it, it will mean it's tangible. A million thoughts and questions race through his mind, each one drowned out by the next. Still, he reaches forward, his own curiosity getting the better of him. He's quite surprised when his fingers meet flesh, rather than passing right through it. He breathes a sigh of relief, but perhaps too quickly. Where as flesh is normally warm to the touch, Juliette's is icy. And while skin is normally rugged and solid, hers is squishy. Unable to see much without a proper light, Nick reaches for the lamp on the bedside table. And only then does he wish he hadn't.

Turning back to Juliette, Nick is met with the ungodly sight of her eyes sunken deep in her skull, discolored and foggy. Her jaw is completely slack, and her face shows no expression. Then he notices the splotches of red on the sheets. He doesn't even need to investigate further to know what it is. Somehow, for the first time in a week, Nick is able to produce a sound: a scream. It's not only a scream of terror, but of a broken heart bursting with sorrow.

Shooting awake, Nick looks around, panic-stricken. His breathing is laboured, like he's just run for his mind is still clouded with the echoes of his dream- his nightmare, rather- he begins to realize that that was all it was. But God, did it feel like more than just that. Everything about it had seemed so real, from the setting of his home, to having Juliette by his side again. Perhaps that was why it stung so bad when he realized that it was all fake; that Juliette was still dead, and she wasn't coming back. And so, for the first time since that night, Nick hung his head and cried.

 _[Break]_

It's hard to wake up the next morning, considering Nick didn't exactly sleep the night before. After his bad dream, he had found it difficult to want to close his eyes again, no matter how heavily the were weighed down by the possibility of sleep. Even when the first rays of sun began to creep their way across his body, he couldn't find any comfort in them. So he stayed awake, occasionally closing his eyes for a few minutes here and there. It's around noon when there's a knock at his door.

A warm, smiling face enters the room, and Nick cracks a smile. Hank hadn't had much time to come by and visit during the week, seeing as how he and Renard were trying to figure out just how to put together Nick's casefile. Knowing what kind of work had to be put in for all of this to happen, Nick had decided immediately not to get upset if it took some time for Hank to come around. But now that he was here, Nick finally managed to feel a little happiness.

Hank had always been the kind of friend that was non-judgemental, not unless he needed to be. If Nick had a problem at home, or needed advice, Hank was his go-to guy. Even on the days where Nick sounded completely insane, both to himself and to everyone else, Hank was ready to jump up and support him. He had been one of the more understanding people when it came to him being a Grimm, and was still with him through all the craziness that ensued. But he also knew when to be firm and frank; if Nick needed to hear the truth, there was never any beating around the bush. It's one of the reasons they had become such great friends when they first met, and why they were still friends now.

"Damn, you look like you just did three days straight of paperwork and only got about four hours of sleep every night this week. Oh no wait, that's me." Chuckling, Hank sat down in the chair at Nick's side. In his hands were a paper bag and a cup of what Nick assumed was coffee. "I know you're not technically supposed to drink caffeine when you're dehydrated, but you look like you could use it." Setting the coffee on the little tray on Nick's bed, he smiled. "I also brought you some Voodoo, in case you were hungry."

It's taken a few days, but Nick is slowly beginning to gain an appetite again. Fishing through the paper bag, he pulls out a chocolate frosted donut, and scarfs it down in record time. And though his stomach protests it a bit, he actually enjoys it. He can hear Hank laughing, but he doesn't mind. Actually, he wants to laugh, too.

And that's when it happens.

It's so small, so innocent, it almost doesn't occur to him what he's doing. Hank is surprised, too; though he hasn't been around much to actually see Nick, Trubel had told him about the fact that he hadn't been speaking, or really making a sound in general. They both look at each other, aware of what's just happened, before bursting out laughing.


End file.
